


High Country

by manic_intent



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, That werewolf AU where John is the werewolf, and Arthur is human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 20:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19236220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “Ain’t pretty,” Arthur warned as Charles loped down to the border between Montana and Yellowstone Park.“When is it ever?” Chief Ranger Charles Smith came to a slow stop beside Arthur. They were both clad in the grey and olive green uniform of a park ranger, the same pale cream hat. Badges and patches marked Charles as the chief and Arthur as a law enforcement ranger. A year in and the uniform still felt surreal on Arthur’s shoulders. It was the best job he’d ever had.“It’s her,” Arthur said quietly.





	High Country

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for Finn, who asked for John/Arthur werewolf AU, with John being the wolf. 
> 
> I’ve mentioned that one of my fave werewolf books is Alice Borchardt’s Silver Wolf series. The second book wasn’t as big of a fave for me because the main character is a dick, but it had an interesting idea—the first werewolf was a wolf that chose to become human. I don’t think I’ve done a spin on that trope yet, so here it is.

“Ain’t pretty,” Arthur warned as Charles loped down to the border between Montana and Yellowstone Park. 

“When is it ever?” Chief Ranger Charles Smith came to a slow stop beside Arthur. They were both clad in the grey and olive green uniform of a park ranger, the same pale cream hat. Badges and patches marked Charles as the chief and Arthur as a law enforcement ranger. A year in and the uniform still felt surreal on Arthur’s shoulders. It was the best job he’d ever had.

“It’s her,” Arthur said quietly. 

Charles’ face pinched briefly in grief before his expression flattened out. At their feet was a female white wolf, her snowy pelt riddled with bloody patches and gore. Flies were crawling over her eyes and mouth, burrowing against her fur. It was 08, the wolf that Charles called Magaskawee. “Just shy of the border,” Charles said. His eyes were bright with tears. 

“Gets worse.” Arthur gestured at the ground beyond Magaskawee with a foot. “Some asshole chased her on his snowmobile. The tracks go for miles. She collapsed with exhaustion over there.” Arthur pointed further down the thin grass, where the blood was thickest. “He shot her where she lay. Watched her crawl for a while, judging from the cigarette butts he left. Watched until she died.” 

Charles turned away. “Collect her tags and leave her to the land,” he said. 

“That’s it?” Arthur’s hands were clenching and unclenching by his side. “I could find out who he was. There’s a camera over there, I got contacts in Montana—”

“Hey.” Charles grabbed his arm. “You really want to do this? Getting you a job here was tough. And it’s been worth it. You’re one of the best law enforcement rangers I’ve got. But 08 was shot in Montana. Not in the park.”

“She didn’t know better,” Arthur said. It was hard getting an easy grip on his rage, a temper that the Army had taught him how to use, honing it through tours in Afghanistan. The same clean rage that had gotten him serving jail time for assault and robbery when he’d come home. “Wolves don’t know human boundaries.”

“Arthur,” Charles said. Charles, whom Arthur served with during his last tour. If Charles hadn’t helped him get this job, Arthur’d probably be back in the slammer by now. He’d never have sorted himself out.

Arthur took a slow breath. “Okay. Okay. I’ve already collected the tags. Let’s go.” 

“I’ll get Abigail to put out a press release.” Charles palmed his phone from his pockets. 

“Abigail, who said she didn’t mind the hunting quotas because a little blood’s not a bad price to pay for a ceasefire between us and them,” Arthur said, contemptuous. 

“She’s right and you know it. Hard as it is to take. There isn’t an ‘us’ and ‘them’. The park has to live with the states it borders. Wolves nearly got eradicated not that long back. The fact that they’re a conservation success is because of agreements between everyone. Hunters _and_ environmentalists. And us.” 

“A success that bit them on the ass, seeing as they’re maybe gonna get delisted,” Arthur said. 

Charles exhaled. “Take it easy, all right? Take a long walk and cool your head.”

#

Arthur paused in the middle of telling off two assholes trying to cook a chicken in a geyser when he recognised Charles approaching him through the closest trail. “Don’t do shit like this again. Now git,” he growled. They scurried away, ducking their heads as they sped past Charles.

Charles inclined his head at them as he walked up to Arthur. The afternoon sun caught shadows over the brim of his hat, painting them over the pinched expression on his brown face. “We’ve got to talk,” he said. 

“Sure,” Arthur said. Charles wasn’t usually this circumspect. “What’s up?” 

“Where were you last night?” Charles asked quietly. 

“Last night? Gave Mary-Beth a hand picking up trash ‘round the—”

“I meant after work,” Charles cut in. 

“Went drinking with Tilly and Karen. Got back to my cabin ‘bout close to midnight after I saw them home. Why?” 

Charles shot Arthur a long, considering stare. “Someone was killed in the park. Near the border to Montana. Looked like he’d been chased for miles until he’d collapsed. The place he died was a blind spot for surveillance cameras.” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “How’d he die?” 

“Looks like he was mauled to death by an animal, but the area’s crawling with law and there’s going to be an autopsy done.” 

“Poor bastard shouldn’t have been in the park after closing hours,” Arthur said, unimpressed, “but I didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re angling to get at. I know the park. If I wanted to kill someone here, y’all wouldn’t have found the body. Or I would’a offed the guy in the Zone of Death.” Legal loopholes and Congressional inaction meant that you could get away with murder in the 50 square miles of park that was part of Idaho. 

“I wasn’t implying that it was you,” Charles said, though he relaxed fractionally, “just that you’d probably get questioned by the cops and I’d rather you watched your mouth.” 

“Play nice, don’t make it seem like I killed whoever it was, got it,” Arthur said. He couldn’t hide his sarcasm. 

Charles nodded curtly. “Keep that in mind.”

#

“I hear you don’t much like hunters,” said the FBI agent waiting for Arthur at his cabin. She was a blonde woman of indeterminate age who aggressively radiated energy like a battery. Sadie Adler had been nosing around the park for days. Three gruesome deaths in three weeks would do that. If cable news wasn’t occupied with performatively mourning the latest mass shooting over in Alabama, there might’ve been more media pressure from up high.

“Do you much like criminals, Agent Adler?” Arthur said. He closed the door to the car and walked over. There wasn’t any way to look non-threatening doing that when he was his size, but Sadie didn’t even tense up. “Tea? Coffee?” 

“Coffee,” Sadie said. She followed Arthur into the cabin. He kept it neat since it wasn’t his. Perks of working as a ranger for Arthur meant in-park housing. Sadie looked around as Arthur waved her to a couch. “Must be great living here,” she said. 

“I like it. One guy I knew said rangers get paid in sunsets,” Arthur said. He nosed around the small kitchen, working on the ancient coffee machine. It gargled reluctantly to life. “I’d rather we got paid proper living wages, but hell. This is the best gig I’ve ever had.” 

“One that your friend Charles Smith helped you get,” Sadie said. 

Arthur tamped down on his temper. He made coffee and brought the steaming mugs over, setting Sadie’s down on a coaster over the rickety coffee table and sitting down in an armchair himself. “That he did.” 

“Most people at this point get defensive.” Sadie didn’t touch the mug.

“What do I have to be defensive over?” 

“Three people have died in the Yellowstone. Same MO. Chased for miles. Killed in surveillance blind spots.” 

“We don’t actually blanket the whole park in cameras. Don’t have the budget for that. Hell, we don’t have the budget for much,” Arthur said. 

“At this point, the FBI’s treating all these deaths as death by misadventure,” Sadie said, “but all those hunters had no business being in the park so late by themselves. Their families and friends were bewildered by how they ended up here. A mere wild animal couldn’t have kidnapped them out of their homes and dropped them in the park.” 

“So you think this… man-eating bear or whatever… was in a conspiracy with some bastard,” Arthur said, amused. “That he waited kindly for some guy to bring him a grown-ass man, let him set this man down in the park, and then runs the man down, kills him, and goes back nicely to wait for the next victim.” 

“I don’t know, Mister Morgan,” Sadie shot back. “A predator would’ve eaten something it killed. None of these bodies were eaten by whatever killed them. Only by the usual scavengers. Could be that I’m concerned. Maybe you should be too. For yourself and your colleagues.”

“When the labs figure out what killed the hunters, maybe I will be,” Arthur said. Speculation among park staff ran from what was popular (a bear) to what was wildly inaccurate (Bigfoot). Arthur hadn’t drawn any conclusions as yet. “Look, we want whatever it was caught too. Don’t want it eating any tourists. Or the rest of us.” 

“Don’t mind it eating hunters, though?” Sadie smiled. 

“I don’t much like hunters and everyone knows it,” Arthur said, meeting her eyes coolly. “I don’t get people who’d look at a beautiful, endangered animal and think, ‘fuck, that head’s gonna look great stuffed and mounted on my wall’.” 

“Noted,” Sadie said, her smile fading.

“But I knows it ain’t possible to manage the park without working with everyone. And as much as I don’t like the idea of there being a man-eating animal around, I _really_ don’t like the idea that some killer’s out there with a trained dog or whatever, turning the Yellowstone into his personal playground. I want to figure this out more than you do.” Arthur gestured around them. “I. Live. Here.” 

Sadie studied Arthur for a long moment and nodded slowly. “You get any leads, get in touch.” She left her card by her untouched coffee, ducking out of the cabin. Arthur put his feet up, taking slow sips. He was going to have to talk to Charles about gathering a posse.

#

“Ah, shit,” Arthur whispered to himself.

The creature crouched over the body of a man looked up. It was not a wolf. No wolf that Arthur had ever seen, anyhow. It was wolf-shaped, but it was nearly twice the size of a normal grey wolf. Black furred. Gigantism? It had scars across its snout, raked there by a mountain cat, maybe. Fresh blood was caked over its mouth, over its bared teeth. It growled, watching Arthur. 

Arthur had spent a week carefully studying the lay of the land and the kills and had concluded that there had been a pattern. He hadn’t yet figured out how the hunters ended up in the park, but once they were, they inevitably were chased to the border. He’d set up infrared cameras and volunteers at likely positions in the park. This was his third night shift.

Third time lucky. Too fucking lucky. 

Slowly, Arthur held up his hands. Shooting an animal this big wasn’t gonna work, not in the night with the pistol he had. Not unless he got even luckier. “You better git,” Arthur told it. It growled again, hackles rising as he took a step toward it. “Don’t look like you got a master, though if you do, I hope you eat him someday.” 

The wolf let out a loud snort, as though Arthur had just made a joke. It stopped growling, its lips coming down over its teeth. That fit Arthur’s experience in the park. Wolves here were used to wolf-watchers. And used to the rangers. Maybe Arthur smelled familiar. “Yeah, that’s right. Easy there. Ain’t gonna hurt you. Git out of here, boy. There’s gonna be hell to pay for what you’ve done, if you’re a wild one. You ain’t made things any easier for the rest of your kind, that’s for sure. _Git_.”

The wolf backed off slowly, reluctantly. It jumped back as Charles’ voice crackled in loudly through the walkie-talkie. “No luck?” The sound was the last straw—the wolf turned tail and loped off into the dark. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe the poor light from the torch clipped to Arthur’s belt, but the wolf’s feet and form looked like it was bleeding into the shadows as it went. Fast, for how big it was. Arthur let out a shaky breath and pinged Charles. “Wish that was the case,” he said. He gave Charles his location and knelt by the body. There wasn’t any need to check for a pulse. The dead man’s throat had been completely torn out.

#

“I was hoping it was a serial killer,” Charles said as he drove Arthur back to his cabin. Dawn was slowly breaking over the trees, but Arthur was in no mood to enjoy it.

“It was.”

“You know what I mean. Would’ve been easier. Shit. I’m going to have to organise a dragnet. Hunt that wolf down. If no one’s ever seen it until now, it’s either very good at hiding or…” Charles trailed off, noticing Arthur’s distraction. “Arthur.” 

Arthur blinked slowly and looked over. “What?” 

“You… Never mind. You get some rest. Must have been a shock.” 

“Yeah,” Arthur said. It had been, but not in the way that Charles meant. Arthur had seen death before. It had been familiar to him in Afghanistan, tour after tour. He’d seen it take people slowly in horrible ways. Children, women. “I think I’m losing it.” 

Charles blew out a breath. “Get some rest. Maybe talk to a—”

“Just. I told you I saw a big wolf, but. You said you couldn’t find any tracks.” 

“It was dark. We’ll try again in the light,” Charles said gently. “I don’t think you were hallucinating, if that’s what you mean.”

“There weren’t any tracks around that body neither. Or the others. We would’ve seen prints from an animal that big. Spoor. Fur. We’ve had sniffer dogs and hunting dogs on the scene who didn’t pick up nothing.”

“Too many conflicting scents, maybe. As to the tracks, the bodies weren’t often found immediately. Someone might have had the time to clean up,” Charles said.

“You’re saying this wolf’s master was in the trees, waiting to just make it look like the victims died to a ghost? What even is the point?” 

“I’m thinking there’s a reason you weren’t attacked, that there’s a reason why the victims have all been similar,” Charles said. All of the dead had been trophy hunters. Particularly of wolves. 

“Maybe.” Arthur exhaled, rubbing his eyes. “Y’know. For a moment I thought. When it was running off into the trees. Didn’t look like it was real. Looked like smoke. A wolf of smoke.” Charles went quiet. After an uncomfortable pause, Arthur said, “You’re right, I need rest.” 

When Charles spoke again, it was in a different, solemn voice. “The Crow used to call the Yellowstone the ‘land of the burning ground’. For the Blackfeet, it was ‘many smoke’. The Flatheads called it ‘smoke from the ground’.”

“Because of the geysers,” Arthur said. 

“Twenty-six tribes have connections to the Yellowstone. It’s always been sacred land to us.” Charles glanced solemnly at Arthur. “It still has many mysteries.”

“I definitely saw blood on the wolf’s mouth. Hard to do that with something made out of smoke. I just. Yeah, I need to sort myself out.” 

“Take as long as you need,” Charles said. He let Arthur out at his cabin and turned around, heading back down the path. Arthur stared at the trees around him until the sun climbed high enough to compress warmth over his cheeks. He wiped shaky fingers down over his pants and turned around, patting himself down for his keys. 

The huge wolf was watching him from the shadow of the cabin. Arthur yelped and stumbled back, falling onto his ass in the dirt. It tilted his head with a huff and took a step closer, then another. The blood over its snout was gone. It padded around Arthur, sniffing at him. It looked and smelled solid enough, but its feet made no sound on the gravel. Left no mark. 

Arthur reached out slowly, telegraphing his movements. The wolf sniffed his hand, its warm breath huffing over Arthur’s palm. It licked his wrist, its tongue hot and wet over his skin. “Shit,” Arthur said slowly. “I’m fucking losing it.” 

The wolf let out another huff of amusement. It padded over to face Arthur, and as it walked its body… _melted_. Turning into pale vapour. The cloud thickened, coalescing slowly. A shape began to form, twisting and compressing. Taking on definition, until a man was crouched on the gravel before Arthur. He looked like he was about Arthur’s height, though he didn’t have Arthur’s build. The same scars that the wolf wore were reproduced over his face. Lanky black hair brushed his compact shoulders, his wolf-gold eyes. 

Arthur pinched himself. Nope. “What. The fuck,” he whispered. 

“You,” said the man who had been a wolf. His voice was low and hoarse, scraped through a throat that he was not used to. “What did you mean?”

“What?” 

“You said. Hell to pay. For my kind.”

Arthur let out a shaky laugh. “I meant other wolves, not. Not whatever you are. What the fuck? Are you a ghost or something?” His hand was still wet from the wolf’s lick. 

“Something,” the man said. He stared steadily at Arthur. “What did you mean?” 

“I, uh. I think. I think I need a drink.”

#

Whatever the smoke-wolf-man was, he’d clearly decided that Arthur was important. Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Hell, he hadn’t even told Charles. He didn’t want to be deemed unstable or something. Lose his position. The killings stopped, at least for now.

“Maybe you should appear to Charles,” Arthur told the stranger, after the fifth time that he had a sudden visitation in the night. He didn’t even get phased anymore by having a naked man suddenly standing behind him in his cabin. 

“Why?” 

“He’d probably, well. His ancestors had a connection to the land and. He. I don’t even know your name? He might.” 

The stranger cocked his head. He glanced at the titles of the books on Arthur’s shelf and walked over, pointing at a word. “Call me that.” 

“John? That’s… not exactly a… I’d say it’s. Kinda a common name,” Arthur said helplessly.

“I like the shape.” John threw himself onto Arthur’s favourite armchair, curling up on it. Some days John didn’t say much. He showed up and sniffed around. This looked like maybe one of those days. Arthur made himself dinner. The last time he’d offered food to John, John had sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, and disappeared for days. He’d reappeared as a wolf, dragging the body of a dead buck behind him. Dumped it on Arthur’s porch. 

“He’d know how to get you to stop killing people,” Arthur muttered. He turned to reach for the olive oil and yelped as he nearly smacked his hand into John. 

“People kill wolves,” John said, his golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on Arthur’s face, “but I can’t kill people?” 

Arthur had tried this conversation with John several times. He sighed and grabbed the olive oil, striping it over his salad. “Killing people tends to have consequences. Maybe not for you. I don’t even know what you are. For everyone else, sure. For the animals. For rangers like me.” 

“You’ve killed people,” John said. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“I know.” 

“…Okay,” Arthur said slowly, “but it ain’t the same. I’m telling you there’s another way. If you’d work with us.” 

John sniffed, shaking himself out like a wolf would. He didn’t look like a man at all, only man-shaped. He looked like a wolf wearing a man’s form. A wolf that wasn’t quite a wolf. Hell, did he look fine. Arthur turned away, his cheeks hot. Trying to explain the concept of clothes to John had been a losing battle. One of several. As he reached for a knife, John draped himself against Arthur’s back with a low rumbling sound. 

“John,” Arthur said. He went carefully still. 

“You are very complicated.” John nuzzled Arthur’s throat, licking it with small kitten licks. 

“People… people tend to be.” Was John…?

“I don’t like people. I like you.” John nipped Arthur on the back of his throat and huffed as Arthur groaned. He squeezed Arthur’s cock through his jeans and growled as Arthur hissed and pressed into his grip. “I want to mate with you. In every form, in every way.” 

“That’s… I don’t…” The big wolf? Arthur knew he should be horrified, but his cock twitched in John’s grip instead. 

“I won’t hurt you,” John said. He unbuckled Arthur’s belt, though he had to take a moment to figure out how it worked. Pulling down Arthur’s pants to his knees, John pushed Arthur’s legs apart and nipped his ass. 

“Shit,” Arthur breathed. He gripped the kitchen counter even as John licked a long stripe between his legs, up between his ass. Arthur whined. John’s tongue felt far longer than a human’s tongue should be, thicker. Arthur looked back with a little trepidation but John still looked human. Other than his eyes, which burned golden as they looked up at Arthur. 

Holding Arthur’s gaze lazily, John licked up again, his tongue lingering over Arthur’s hole, pressing against the muscle. Oh fuck. Fingers closed over Arthur’s cock, spit wet. They clenched down, giving Arthur something to fuck into as John kept licking him, growling in a rumbling deepening sound that shook against the back of Arthur’s thighs. Arthur bit down on his wrist and bent against the kitchen counter. If he looked back now, he wasn’t sure what he would see.

He wasn’t sure that he cared. 

Moaning, Arthur snapped his hips against John’s fist. Pleasure was shaking through him like nothing he’d felt before, more intense, more visceral. He felt like he was breathing John in with each desperate gasp. Each whimper that John pulled from him felt like a prayer. He fucked harder into John’s fingers, ripped closer and closer to the brink. As John teased the tip of his tongue into Arthur’s hole, Arthur muffled a yell into his fist as he came so hard the world collapsed into white noise. 

Arthur came to in bed, curled against the flank of the huge wolf. As he rubbed his eyes, John licked him from chin to forehead and huffed as Arthur yelped and shoved at his muzzle. “Fuck,” Arthur said hoarsely. The wolf licked a stripe over Arthur’s throat. Lower, over his peaking nipples. Lower yet, over Arthur’s swelling cock. John glanced at Arthur with questioning golden eyes, and let out a low growl of approval as Arthur flushed and spread his thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Refs:  
> Basically yes, gray wolves are possibly about the be delisted off the Endangered Species List in the USA. If this is of any interest to you, read up. The US Fish and Wildlife Services is still accepting comments from the public until July 15 2019. https://www.fws.gov/midwest/wolf/
> 
> Anecdotes from:  
> https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/2019/03/gray-wolves-endangered-species-united-states/  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/06/science/gray-wolf-protection.html  
> https://news.nationalgeographic.com/2017/06/wolf-nation-brenda-peterson-wolves/  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F87BLyb_Rq8  
> https://www.yellowstonenationalparklodges.com/connect/yellowstone-hot-spot/qa-with-a-law-enforcement-ranger/  
> https://www.nps.gov/features/colm/virtualtour/section/hard/activity/find-your-calling/backcountry-ranger.html  
> https://www.insider.com/national-park-secrets-2017-6  
> https://www.vox.com/2014/5/22/5738756/you-can-kill-someone-in-a-section-of-yellowstone-and-get-away-scot  
> https://newsmaven.io/indiancountrytoday/archive/native-history-yellowstone-national-park-created-on-sacred-land-Vu5ywco8VU66zGmghrlQvw/
> 
> —  
> twitter: @manic_intent  
> about my writing etc: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> 


End file.
